


Long Way Back To The Light (WIP-Working Title)

by Sybildiscontent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Broken Promises, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Forced Orgasm, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Illnesses, M/M, Masturbation, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-20 15:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18527878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sybildiscontent/pseuds/Sybildiscontent
Summary: It's been three years since they left Rail Pass and started the next phase of their lives. Dean is busy working full time in town, Cas is busy going to school full time and about to wrap up his Junior year at Johnson State College. Something is driving Cas to be more and more distant and Dean is sure the surprise he has planned will finally put them on the right path again. But an unexpected delay changes their lives forever, and instead of the path he hoped, Dean finds himself fighting an unknown future while he watches his world come crashing down.Author note: The tags displayed are triggers pertaining to the whole story overall. If there are specific warnings for the chapters, they will be indicated at the head of each chapter. I have no posting schedule at this time, but I hope to be posting weekly. This fic is essentially a fanfic of another amazing work by an amazing author. This is NOT a collaborative effort, and while this is posted with the original author's permission, this continuation of the story is completely my creation. That said, whether you like or hate what I have written, you should ABSOLUTELY go check out Hautley's Bend by coldinthestudio.





	1. I am here

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for possible triggers/disturbing material will be posted at the beginning of each chapter. If you wish to skip the chapter, scroll to the end of the chapter notes for a brief and hopefully non-triggery summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings for this chapter.

 

_It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.- Frederick Douglass_

 

_Friday, May 7th, 2004. 7pm Cas_

Wisps of cotton-candy clouds glowed against a swelling sapphire sky, rushing ahead of the gathering storm. The final smouldering rays of sun were slowly being coaxed into submission behind the rise of the mountain in the distance. As the light dwindled and shadows grew, the temperature fell, plummeting the unusually warm May afternoon into more familiar territory. The humidity in the air still pressed in, however, making breathing an almost laborious task.

 

Perched on the boulder, the man sits, barely acknowledging the growing chill seeping through his jacket, watching the ruddy clouds shred smaller and smaller from the growing wind. Lit from beneath by the dying sun, he noted they look more like like bloody gashes than clouds. He grimaced at the sudden, unwelcome thought, the corners of his mouth twitching into a frown. Pressing his eyes closed he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the disturbing image. When he looks again, the rips in the sky have returned to clouds and he sighed in relief, sharp features quickly resuming their blank expression.

 

_He needs this._

 

He drew in a deep breath, chin tilting slightly, focusing, seeking calm within the chaos of the approaching storm.

 

Somewhere far off, a pack of coyotes yip and keen as they scurry to find shelter. Above him, a single hawk swoops and dives, buffeted by the pressing winds, seeming to enjoy the chaotic nature of the storm. His eyes followed the hawk riding the swells, rising and turning, dropping with a grace and beauty that captivated him.

 

If he was honest, it all captivated him, as it had done since the first moment he had stumbled across it on a hike with Anna, one of the few times she’d been able to visit. He came here often. At first it was out of awe for the beauty of it, but tonight... it was for escape. 

 

It calmed him.

 

He had seen the seasons change his whole life, and from every side of the continental U.S. But it was more meaningful here, somehow. More...vibrant. From his perch atop the boulder he could sit for hours, silent and still, letting the earth move around him, doing nothing but watching, breathing, feeling. Watching the cycle spin on and on as life ebbed and flowed around him, breathed and grew, frosted and fell, burned and died. It was always present, and always total. He needed the calm he usually found here. He needed clarity, understanding, absolution. He would sit here all night if he had to.

 

He would wait.

 

A sudden low humming noise caught his attention, breaking his gaze from the hypnotic dance of the hawk. Reflexively his hand started to move for his phone. _No_ , he stopped himself. _Not yet._ He _had_ to figure this out. He couldn’t afford a distraction. Not now, not when he had everything to lose...He breathed deep and locked that thought tightly back where it had almost escaped from. His hand fell back to his lap. He had to figure out what had happened, what he should do. He _needed_ this time.

 

He deserved it. 

 

No.

 

_Dean deserved it._

 

He focused his sapphire eyes back on the sky, searching again for the hawk, disappointment briefly washing him when he found it had moved on.  His eyes flicked back to the sun and he watched the solemn surrender as the last licks of daylight fought in vain against the underbelly of the thunderheads feeding themselves on the thick, suffocating promise of the night. His gaze rested there, following the storm rushing to engulf the very sky it was born from, full of electricity and impatience. Winds gusted below him, restlessly climbing over the valley, up the sides of the mountain until finally descending upon him.

 

He closed his eyes, feeling the angry wind grit against his face, reaching it's relentless fingers down the collar of his jacket to his chest. His dark hair was already hopelessly tousled, and he did nothing to stop it from whipping down onto his forehead. He focused his hearing, trying to follow the path of the rain as it swooped and swirled around him. He sat, immobile, tracking the wind as it began to howl in earnest. He pictured the fingers of the storm, beckoning the restless leaves, bending them towards the ground by the hundreds, the weight of all their shifted movement forcing the tree to sway and dance to the growing cacophony made by the swarming leaves.

 

And he waited.

 

Sharp “thwip” sounds began to creep towards him, pinging off the leaves. A startlingly cold gust spat across his face and brought with it the first wet release of the storm. _It's a good thing my eyes are already closed_ , he thought to himself mutely, feeling the sharp slaps of rain against his eyelids. He took in a deep breath and held it, as if to memorize the smell of this storm like a lover’s perfume he hoped to never forget. Tiny daggers began their mission in earnest, whipped fiercely from above, slapping and stinging where they hit his exposed flesh, increasing with speed and aggression until the drops themselves seemed hellbent on piercing through his skin or drowning him, whichever came first. He turned his face ever so slightly into the driving rain, letting it soak him, imagining the storm is baptizing him.  He waits, concentrating on the music in the leaves, punctuated by the low, throaty growls of the thunder rolling in the distance. Electricity sparks through the air and smacks down to the ground, marked by a shattering crash and chased by an echoing rumble as lighting made contact a handful of miles from where he was, maybe closer. Briefly he contemplated leaving but...

 

_He needed this._

 

Another crack and deep rumble, this time close enough to shake the ground beneath him. Finally.

 

The storm was here.

 

He opened his eyes.

 


	2. Shots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings for this chapter

_Am I out of touch?_

_Am I out of my place?_

_When I keep saying that I'm looking for an empty space_

_Oh, I'm wishing you're here_

_But I'm wishing you're gone_

_I can't have you and I'm only gonna do you wrong_

_Shots- Imagine Dragons_

 

 

Sunday, May 16, 2004

Dean had been away from home a little over a week and he was finally on the way home.  He sighed, his stomach churning. He couldn’t tell if he was hungry or sick or about to have a bleeding ulcer from the stress and worry he had felt since Cas dropped him off at the bus station a week ago. He eyed the bag of snacks he had gotten at the Gas N’ Sip just before he had gotten on the freeway, but decided against it. Food wasn’t what he needed right now, especially the overly-processed, underly-nutritious crap he always elected to buy. No. What he needed was to be home. He needed to be in Cas’ arms, melting into his body, smelling his sweet, honeyed breath as he pressed his lips into him. He needed to hear he was being crazy, Cas’ silence over the last week wasn’t indicative of something awful, his worrying was unfounded, that things hadn’t changed. He sighed.

 

He _needed_ this damned traffic to move.

 

As if it heard him, the cars in front of him rolled forward and Dean sat up straighter, but after 20 feet it ground to a halt.  Exasperated, he huffed back into the seat and let his mind wander over the events of the last week. It was better than sitting here feeling his stomach eat him from the inside.

 

**∞∞∞**

 

_Friday, May 7, 2004_

_Dean’s bus got in just after 8pm on a Friday and, true to life in a small town, the place was almost deserted. He was one of only a handful of people on the old Greyhound, and while he waited to disembark he shot off a quick text to Cas, letting him know he had arrived safely. The ride had only been a little over an hour, but the bus was older, the other passengers content to focus on their phones or books rather than chat. Which suited Dean just fine. He was coming back to spend a week visiting friends and family and then bring his Baby (A mint condition ‘67 Chevy Impala) back home where she belonged._

 

_He stepped off the bus into the slight chill of the May air, scanning the adjacent lot for the familiar truck. Bobby was going to pick up Dean and bring him back to his place for the night. Sitting about halfway across the near empty lot, Dean spotted it, grumpy and idling, somehow a perfect representation of its owner. Bobby Singer was Dean’s uncle. He had short, scratchy stubble constantly coating his cheeks and chin and eyes like steel in the sunlight, both intense and mesmerizing. His face was almost always pulled in a slight frown and he was never without his most comfortable jeans, a threadbare flannel, and worn baseball cap pulled over his stringy hair. Despite the gruff exterior, Bobby himself was one of the kindest people Dean knew. He and his wife, Ellen, had proven their love for Dean and his little brother Sammy over and over again. They always had a warm bed and meal, hugs and unquestioning love that shone through everything they did. Dean was incredibly grateful that he had them, he honestly didn’t know what would have become of him and Sammy otherwise._

 

_Smiling broadly, he set out across the parking lot. As soon as Bobby spotted Dean heading towards him, he swung open the truck door and got out, greeting him with a strong and somewhat uncharacteristic hug. Dean didn’t care, laughing and squeezing him back, clapping his hand on his shoulder. They hadn’t seen each other since Christmas, and that was only for a quick dinner before Bobby and Ellen had to get back home. After a second Bobby leaned back, taking in Dean with squinted eyes and nodded. “Boy.”_

 

_It was all Dean needed to pull him back into a hug, surprising a short “Oof” out of him, and before Bobby could really react he had let him go again, his eyes gleaming in merriment. “Heya, Bobby.”_

 

_Bobby regarded him with suspicious eyes for a second, like Dean might ambush him in another hug if he responded. Dean just grinned at him, eyes glittering in the lights from the parking lot. After a brief moment he seemed satisfied and let his face fall back into its usual near-scowl and he gestured toward the truck. “Well. You ‘bout ready to git goin’ or didja wanna stand here all night, freezing and lookin’ like some kinda saps?”_

 

_Dean chuffed. That response was so very Bobby. He made a move like he was going to hug him again, just to see him flinch, before chortling and stepping to head around to the passenger side of the truck.  Bobby heaved a deep sigh and mumbled “Idjit” under his breath, but Dean caught the slight lift to the corner of his mouth. It was good to be back._

 

**∞∞∞**

 

Sunday, May 16, 2004

Blowing a hot burst of air through his teeth Dean caught himself just before he slammed his palm against the horn. Instead he clenched his jaw and forced his hands to remain where they were on the steering wheel, watching through slitted eyes as the gunmetal grey sport car swerved within inches of the front of his car, forcing its way into a space that was barely big enough to breathe between the vehicles. “Bitch,” he mumbled, irritated, breaking the tense, brooding silence that had been increasingly enveloping him for the last hour and a half. Exasperated, Dean glanced down at the glowing digital numbers on his cell and this time he was unsuccessful at suppressing the curse that punched out of his chest. 2:42pm.

He had promised to be home by 3. At the rate he was moving, there was no way that was happening. _Shit. It’s always gotta be something._

He was going to be late.

Again.

_Always._

 

**∞∞∞**

 

_Friday, May 7, 2004_

_Rail Pass is a relatively small town, and while the bus station is just past it’s outskirts, it still only took about 10 minutes before they were pulling into the driveway of the comfortable, little shamble of a house that the Singers called home. Bobby pulled into the garage and before Dean could even pull his duffle out of the back he heard the door to the house slam open. Dean grinned, knowing what was about to happen. He had barely turned around when he found himself being wrapped into a suffocating hug from Sammy. He was fifteen now, and the growth spurt Dean had been waiting for had finally hit the kid. He all but towered over his older brother, but had still run at him and thrown himself into a hug like the scrawny little 12-yr old he was last time Dean had spent any real time back home. Dean momentarily lost his breath, huffing when Sam’s surprisingly solid form slammed into him, but got over it quickly and returned the favor by smothering his brother in a hug of his own. Man, he missed this kid. Although life with Cas was where he saw his future, life taking care of Sammy would always be his past, and sometimes his heart ached so hard he felt it would drop right out of his chest._

 

_Living only a few hours away he thought he would make it home more often than he had but bills, his demanding work schedule, Cas’ even more demanding school schedule and a lack of a reliable vehicle had left him rather castrated in his ability to make frequent visits. Bobby and Ellen found every excuse they could to come and see him and Cas, but Sammy was hardly ever able to tag along. He had his own life here, and a much happier one at that._

 

 _Releasing Dean from his death grip, Sammy followed his big brother into the house, babbling all the way. He told Dean about how he was doing in school, how he was taking AP classes even though he was only a sophomore (because of_ course _he was), how his girlfriend, Jess, had gotten a job at the local animal clinic, and about how their dad had let he and Jess plant a small garden in the back of the house, under where Dean’s window used to be. Sam was talking so fast and switching subjects so quickly Dean found it a little difficult to keep up, but it didn’t matter. Seeing the way Sam’s face was lit up, the animated way he gestured while he talked, the sparkle of joy in his deep hazel eyes made the likely headache later completely worth it. Dean had accepted a beer from Bobby, settled on to the torn, faded couch in the living room and sipped, just listening as Sammy kept going, filling Dean in on his life as fast as possible._

 

**_∞∞∞_ **

 

Sunday, May 16, 2004

He swore again, raking his hand through his hair. Despite Johnson only being a little under an hour away, here he sat, almost two hours after he left, still roughly 20 miles from the apartment he and Cas shared, bumper to bumper traffic, as far as the eye could see in either direction. It was amazing what a little rain and some ill-timed construction could do to drivers on this highway.

‘ _No, not amazing.’_ he corrected himself darkly, _‘astounding_ .’  Astonishing, really. Every damned time it so much as misted in this place people suddenly drove as though the cars were manned by every little-old blue-haired gramma on their way home from church on a lazy Sunday over an ice rink slathered in pudding. It was fucking ridiculous, inching forward in two tons of glossy black steel when he could _walk_ there faster.  His hands itched. He wanted to _move._ He wanted to swing the Impala onto the shoulder of the two-lane and stomp the pedal, leaving all these overly-cautious douche-bags in her wake. He just wanted to get home.

 

**∞∞∞**

 

_Friday, May 7, 2004_

_Over dinner Dean learned that in addition to Sam acing all the advanced classes he was taking and maintaining a healthy relationship with his way-out-of-his-league girlfriend (Dean made sure to press that point home whenever he had the chance, just to see Jess’s cheeks turn pink as Sam stuttered in protest. It was hilarious) Sam had taken over working at Bobby’s shop when Castiel had left, trying to save money towards college. Dean was almost bursting with emotion hearing his brother detailing out so much of what Dean had once barely dared to dream would be possible for him. He wanted Sam to succeed. No, to thrive. To be as impossibly happy in life as he deserved, and he deserved a hell of a lot better than his life had given him while he was growing up. Conversation turned naturally then to how the store was doing overall, and then how John was doing._ _Dean almost choked on his beer when Sam proudly announced that their dad had taken the recommendation of his AA counselor to “find a hobby” to heart and enrolled in cooking classes._ “Dad? OUR dad?” _Dean had sputtered through his coughing, eyes huge in disbelief. Sam confirmed, as did Bobby and Ellen, and went on to explain that it seemed that John found that he actually enjoys cooking. Baking, in particular. “_ Dean...get this...he’s actually not too bad at it! _” Sam proclaimed proudly, earning a bright laugh from Jess and a roll of the eyes from Bobby._ _Dean couldn’t keep the smile from his lips as he accepted another beer from Ellen and sat back, marveling at the joy seeping from everyone in the room. This was just what he needed._

 

_After dinner wrapped up they moved back into the living room, Dean nursing his third beer of the night and sinking in to the comfortable worn plush of the couch. He felt warm, comfortable and slightly fuzzy from the alcohol. He loved every second of being back, although he noted with pang that it no longer quite felt like home. It was comfortable, it was familiar, sure, but it wasn’t home anymore. It wasn’t Cas. Cas was home._

 

_The next morning, he and Bobby left Tennessee to bring back some items from an Estate sale that Bobby’s long-time friend Rufus had promised were “too good to pass up” and the “deal of a lifetime”. The only drawback? It was across state lines, and Ellen worried about Bobby making that long of a drive on his own. Dean had been meaning to come back for some time, now, and the guise of helping Bobby move the bounty home was perfect.They made good time, laughing and chatting and eating crappy food from gas stations and fast food joints until Bobby swore Ellen was gonna kill him for fattening up so much. They stayed the night in a run down motel, Bobby snoring his head off in his worn out single and Dean staring at the ceiling above the pull-out couch, trying not to check his phone. He hadn’t heard anything from Cas since he had dropped him off with a curt “Be safe” at the bus station, and it was starting to gnaw at his gut. Maybe reception was bad enough that text messages weren’t getting through? Dean rolled onto his side, punching his pillow, listening to Bobby’s labored snores and trying to quell the anxious rumble in his gut._

 

_He didn’t get any sleep._

 

**∞∞∞**

 

Sunday, May 16, 2004

He heaved a deep sigh of resignation and fumbled in his jacket for his cigarettes. Stubbing the pack against his palm, he popped the smoke into his mouth while simultaneously reaching to push the cigarette lighter into the dash. His thumbs drummed against the steering wheel as he impatiently waited for the familiar “snap” noise the charger made when the coils were hot, playing a disjointed rhythm that perfectly accompanied the frenzied electricity rolling through his veins. He was going to be late. The thought chewed and bit at him. Dammit. The longer he had to sit here and stew, the more his brain screamed at him that he needed to get back to Cas. Something was wrong.  _Something is wrong._

 

**∞∞∞**

 

_After a quick breakfast at a dive truck stop just past the motel they finished the drive to the Estate sale. A squat, stuffy man led them to a cramped room where they found heaps of boxes and assorted furniture draped in old, moldy cloth. They set to task, spending the next few hours sorting through the stacks, Bobby occasionally cursing Rufus and his idjit ways for not knowing a real antique from a ‘dusty piece of crap’ and Dean chuckling at Bobby’s surliness. It was dusty, sweaty work and Dean loved every second of it._

 

_It kept his mind off of things, and his hands off his phone._

 

_Eventually Bobby had managed to find a sizeable chunk of items that he reluctantly agreed might make the price of the sale worth it, and by the time they had it all packed up in the back of his beat-up truck he seemed in a better mood. After a late lunch at a nearby fast food joint and a short debate about whether they should get a room to share in another cheap motel or bite the bullet and press through (Dean, remembering the long hours the previous night argued heavily against the motel) they decided to just haul on back to Rail Pass. Neither of them talked much, opting instead to listen to the fading radio._

 

_As soon as they set off, Dean opened his messages, trying not to feel the lead in his stomach at the one-sided conversation, and texted Cas, telling him of Bobby’s plight with the items and his sworn oath to ‘kick Rufus’ ass next time he saw him for making me drive out to the middle of nowhere for nothing but a couple of plates and some furniture.’ Smiling into the glow of his phone as he imagined Cas’ chuckle when he read it. He clicked his phone off to conserve the battery and sat with it on his lap so he wouldn’t miss the return text. He missed Cas, and it had only been a little over two days. Jesus, maybe Bobby was right. He was a sap._

 

_He sighed, resting his head against the cool glass, staring out into the deepening night, watching the trees and shrubs whizzing past, briefly illuminated in the glow of Bobby’s headlights. After a few minutes he checked his phone,trying not to dwell on Cas’ silence too much, and instead closing his eyes and forcing himself to concentrate on the next few days. He would spend one more night at Bobby and Ellens, then he was heading over to see Cas's sister, Anna, at the home of her self-proclaimed surrogate mother, Missouri. Knowing the soft, odd little woman well, Dean suspected his afternoon visit would easily slip into a whole evening, and if he admitted it to himself, he was excited. Once the evening was over, however, Dean would head back to the Winchester homestead to spend the rest of his time back in the house he had grown up in._

 

**∞∞∞**

 

Sunday, May 16, 2004

The sharp cry of an angry horn behind him snapped Dean out of his haze. Blinking, Dean realized he was drifting about 40 yards behind the car in front of him. Irritated, he eased the gas pedal and the Impala responded in kind, quickly closing the gap between the vehicles.

 

“There, you happy now?” Dean muttered while shoving the lighter back in, the coils having cooled too quickly to be of any use. Scratching absent-minded at his thigh he pondered that he hadn’t thought to buy a lighter at the gas station when he’d bought the smokes. He’d been quit for almost three years, ever since that last drag he had accepted from his friend Crowley... the day they found out Alistair had died. He had promised Cas, and he really wanted to keep his promise.

 

Recently though...Dean heaved a great sigh and raked his hands through his hair.

 

Recently things had been tough.

 

**∞∞∞**

 

_Sunday, May 9, 2004_

_They arrived back to the Singer homestead in the middle of the night. Exhausted, Dean didn’t even change out of his clothes before passing out in Bobby and Ellen's guest bedroom. He awoke, stiff and stinking, to bright morning sunlight blazing through his eyelids, his face crumpled and lined from being smooshed into the pillow. Groaning and stretching Dean cursed his increasing age. He stumbled into the bathroom to splash water on his face and drag a toothbrush across his fuzzy teeth._

 

_After he declared himself somewhat together, he made his way to the kitchen and found Ellen busy at the stove tending to bacon and homemade cinnamon rolls. As soon as she heard Dean she turned, raking her eyes over his bleary face and crossed to the counter to pour him a cup of coffee. Ellen’s eyes watched him until he took a careful sip, one eyebrow cocked, until a grateful smile came across Dean’s face. It tasted like heaven._

 

_Smiling motherly and humming softly to herself, Ellen gestured him towards the table and turned back to the stove. Dean sank down and stretched out his legs, leaning into the worn out kitchen chair and warming his hands around the mug. Bobby shuffled in a few minutes later and grunted as Ellen handed him his own mug. After taking a sip he grimaced and commented about the lack of sugar, which was all it took to start the loving bickering that had peppered their conversations ever since Dean could remember. He smiled deeper and felt the warmth in his chest grow to match the warmth of his hands around the mug. He had missed this, too._

 

**∞∞∞**

Sunday, May 16, 2004

Dean was reaching for the lighter again when a sharp “ _Bzzzt!”_ caused him to pause mid-air, the cigarette falling unnoticed from his lips. The sudden vibration of his phone against the seat almost stopped his heart. Dean’s breath caught in his throat, grabbing the phone off the seat and thumbing the side button to turn it on. The screen popped to life...

It was Bobby. Asking if he’d made it home okay.

Just Bobby, reminding him to hug “that man o’ yours” and wish him well from him and Ellen.

Bobby reminding Dean that, now that he had the Impala, he expected him and Cas to come visit, and soon.

Just Bobby.

 

Dean felt like he’d been punched in the gut.


	3. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Panic attack; History of past traumatic event (fire)

Recovery

_I don't want to play this game no more_

_I don't wanna play it_

_I don't want to stay 'round here no more_

_I don't wanna stay here_

_Like rain on a Monday morning_

_Like pain that just keeps on going on- Recovery, James Arthur_

 

_Saturday, May 15, 2004- Dean_

_After what seemed like no time at all, Dean found himself on his last evening in Rail pass back in the Winchester house with Sammy, Jess and John. As much as he loved being here, he was really, really missing Cas. He had only gotten two short text replies the entire week. He pushed that to the back of his mind, willing himself to instead remember every last detail of the night unfolding around him. From the way Sam’s eyes glittered when he looked at Jess as she helped him set the table, to the crestfallen look in his dad’s eyes when his cornbread came out of the oven more like a corn brick. John was still working to get the fine nuances of baking down, and his embarrassment at the dense little square was apparent. Despite it’s odd shape, the cool sweetness of the cornbread was a perfect compliment to the spicy brine of the chili Sam and Jess had made. Dean was more than a little impressed, and complemented Sammy about a million times while he ate. Sammy would go crimson under his mop of hair, and Jess would giggle that tinkling little laugh she had._

 

_Mostly, though, Dean spent the most time watching his dad. John’s eyes never stopped sweeping across the table, like he was seeing them all for the first time. And, in a way, Dean realized, he was. John had spent years since their mother’s death stuck under a virtual ocean of booze, anger and regret. He had been sober for almost three years now, and was almost unrecognizable from whom Dean remembered. He watched him grinning and laughing, cracking jokes or pulling Sammy in to tousle his hair much in the same way Dean does. He watched him offer to do the dishes since Sammy had cooked the successful parts of the meal, watched him scoff and chuckle when they all argued with him that his cornbread WAS successful, if oddly shaped. He watched as his dad happily pulled out board games once the dishes were put away. Dean smiled. His little misshapen family was finally becoming whole again._

**_∞∞∞_ **

Sunday, May 16, 2004

He needed to get out of the car, out of the traffic, to clear his mind. Just for a minute. He didn’t want to delay his return home, not really. He just _needed_ to distract his mind; from the sluggish traffic; the oppressive, suffocating feel of the heavy grey clouds; the cold, impersonal rain; and especially the gut-twisting thought that somehow, _somehow_ he was losing Cas.  ‘ _I’ll just stretch my legs,’_ he surmised. _‘Maybe find a gas station, top Baby off. Just a quick stop, then I’m right back on track. I am NOT avoiding going home. I’m not. I’m NOT.’_

 

At least, that’s what he told himself as he peered through the dreary rain, searching for an exit sign. It took another 20 minutes of creeping along before he got his wish. Exhaling in relief, Dean eased Baby on to the shoulder. Eyeing the traffic carefully, he gently pressed on the gas pedal. With a quiet, almost happy purr, the car eased onto the shoulder.

 

**_∞∞∞_ **

 

_Sunday, May 16, 2004_

_By the time he woke up Sunday morning, he was more than ready to head home. Despite having stayed up until nearly three am the night before, he woke early. He lay there for a while, staring up at the walls that had once been his, letting his eyes wander to the Star Wars poster tacked to his ceiling. He wondered how many times he had stared at it before. Hundreds, maybe thousands. He rolled over, trying to get comfortable, and willed himself to fall back to sleep, but his mind had other ideas._

 

_He longed for Cas to be here, listening and marveling and laughing. He felt it like physical ache inside him, could taste it like metal in his mouth. Things had been strained between them when he left, and he thought maybe the space would help. His heart fell a little more every time he checked his phone but found nothing staring back at him but the background picture Cas had taken for him, shortly after they started dating. It was slightly out of focus but it was still one of his favorites. It showed Cas, laying on his stomach in bed, his chiseled face turned up towards the camera, eyes endless pools of deep blue beneath sleep-heavy lids, sunlight catching through the needles of the pine tree that was outside his window, dappling his smooth ivory skin in a mesmerizing pattern. It never failed to make Dean smile._

 

_Until now._

 

_He forced himself to stay put until  7 o’clock. before finally giving up. Dean sighed, glancing around the bare room, feeling waves of the past pulse over him. He remembered the countless hours he and Sam had spent in here, idly chatting about nothing while Sammy steadfastly worked away at his homework and Dean steadfastly avoided his. He remembered countless hours, staring up at the blue and green dots littering his ceiling, wondering if his dad was coming home that night, or what he should get Sammy for his birthday, or if he should bother going to school the next day. He remembered getting dressed up for Bella’s annual party, stomach jittery and nervous in an almost giddy anticipation, the first night he was finally able to be with Cas..._

 

_And he remembered Cas._

 

_Tucked up and safe, snuggled against him, his warm flesh pressing into Dean night after night. The way he looked first thing in the morning, all flushed and gorgeous, his dark hair standing in a million different directions, ocean blue eyes bleary with sleep. He remembered Cas sitting on his bed, talking quietly about everything and nothing for hours. He remembered kissing him, holding him, loving him._

 

_He loved Cas, he knew that now. Hell, he had known that then, but he couldn’t get past his certainty that someone as beautiful and good as Cas could never love him back._

 

_Something warm and wet dropped onto Dean’s hand, startling him. He stared down at his hand in confusion until he spied the tiny, glistening drop. As he was staring at it, another plopped down next to it. ‘What the fuck?’ Dean muttered. He was crying. Why the hell was he crying? He had never been as happy in his life as he had been the last three years. He should be happy, right? Even the miserable parts of his past had helped shape him in to the person he was now, and that was good, right? Necessary evil or something, Dean groused to himself. All that shit had lead him to Cas, to loving him. To wanting to spend his life with him. And Cas loved him, too. He did. It was just a busy week for him, that was all. He loved Cas and Cas loved him and the rest was… Well, it just was. Cas loved him. Cas loved him. Cas loved him._

 

_He hunched his shoulders, curling in miserably as sobs wracked his body._

 

_He didn’t even bother to wipe the rest of the tears away._

 

**∞∞∞**

 

Sunday, May 16, 2004

A few miles off the highway, Dean spied a small gas station. He carefully maneuvered Baby underneath a sagging metal roof, barely big enough to cover the slab of pavement the pumps were resting on. Gratefully he pushed open the door and stood. Almost immediately he was overcome with a wave of intense vertigo, catching his hand on the smooth hood of the car to steady himself, stomach churning. He pressed his eyes closed and sucked a deep breath of damp ozone. The smell was fresh, it should be grounding.

 

 _It smelled like Cas_.

 

Just thinking that name, Dean felt the now-familiar twist in his gut and grinds his teeth against it.

 

He remained there, his hand pressed against the hood of the car, eyes clenched shut, shallowly sucking breath after breath, willing the rolling, swaying feeling to subside until, finally, it does. Cautiously he cracked one eye open, making sure the world was staying in one place. Slowly he straightened up and glanced around, relieved there was no one else there to witness his momentary loss of gravity. Drawing another deep breath, he slammed the door and made his way towards the pump.

 

**∞∞∞**

 

_Sunday, May 16, 2004_

_Once he had gotten control of himself, Dean splashed some cold water on his face, got dressed and headed to the kitchen. No one else was up, so he set the coffee maker to drip a strong brew before he stepped out into the brisk morning air to try calling Cas again. Dean would be driving home later in the day, but after the mini panic attack that morning, Dean was officially wrecked. He needed to hear Cas’ voice, his soothing words and throaty chuckle. It was still early, but it was a Sunday and Cas would hopefully fall back to sleep if Dean woke him. He scrolled through his phone and hesitated slightly before pressing his contact. Swallowing hard, he tried to ignore the weird, uncomfortable fluttering in his chest as the phone rang._

 

**∞∞∞**

 

Sunday, May 16, 2004

Crossing behind the car he felt the world threaten to sway again, and quickly braced his hand on the trunk, jamming his eyes closed and breathing through his mouth in forced gasps. The ground swayed under his feet but this time, in addition to the roiling surge of his stomach he felt a burning flare across his side.

 

_What the?_

 

His scars.

 

_His scars from the fire._

 

They hadn’t bothered him in years, since he and Cas left Rail Pass behind. The pain flared again like a knife, cutting across his side and causing him to punch his fist against it, trying to staub the pain. Gasping and choking, swallowing against the bile rising in his throat, Dean clawed at his mind, forcing himself to control his breathing.

 

_In through the nose, out through the mouth. The fire is not here, you are not trapped in the fire. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The fire is not here, you are not trapped in the fire…_

 

Another wave ripped through him and he sank to his knees, hissing through the shock.

 

He couldn’t move, the pain overwhelming him, burning him all over again.

 

 _In through the nose, out through the mouth. The fire is not here, you are not trapped in the fire._ He concentrated on the mantra, trying not to panic, trying not to faint, trying to _keep breathing_.

 

**∞∞∞**

 

_Sunday, May 16, 2004_

_One ring. Two. Three. Dean’s heart sank deeper and deeper into the ground with each passing ring, not really knowing what to think. He had tried to call Cas twice last night, once the night before, all of them going unanswered. Sure, Cas had texted later, apologizing, saying his phone was off but Dean just felt that something was...off. The fourth ring echoes and Dean sighed, pulling the phone away from his ear when he caught the soft, sleep-graved voice through the speaker._

 

_“Hullo?”_

 

_Dean’s chest hitched almost painfully as he pushed the phone back to his ear, breathing out “Cas?” as he did. There was silence on the other end of the phone, so total and complete that Dean wondered if he had imagined Cas answering at all._

 

_But then._

 

_“Hello, Dean.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary: Dean spends his final night in Rail Pass in the old Winchester homestead. He awakes before dawn and is struck with a small panic attack caused by memories and stress. While driving home he pulls off the road and has an anxiety attack which results in phantom pains in scar tissue across his abdomen which he sustained in a fire.


	4. Tightrope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: None

Tightrope

_Caught up in a whirlwind, can't catch my breath_

_Knee deep in hot water, broke out in cold sweat_

_Can't catch a turtle, in this rat race_

_Feels like I'm losing time, at a breakneck pace_

 

_Walkin' the tight rope, steppin' on my friends_

_Walkin' the tight rope, was a shame and a sin_

_Walkin' the tight rope, between wrong and right_

_Walkin' the tight rope, both day and night- Tightrope, Stevie Ray Vaughan_

 

_Friday Night, May 7th, 2004- Cas_

Cas was drenched by the time he made it back to the car. It was after ten now, and the storm had mostly worked itself out, though the rain was still falling in cold sheets. Numb with cold, he pushed his hand into his pocket and coaxed the reluctant keys out from the stiff fabric. He paused before getting in, briefly debating if he should remove his jacket and try to keep at least _some_ of the water out of the car, but quickly realized his effort would be in vain. He was absolutely soaked. As soon as he turned the key in the ignition he fumbled for the air knob and twisted it to high heat. The fan made a high-pitched whine in protest, but started spitting out air all the same. He sat there, waiting for the heat to kick in and thaw his body a bit.

 

He had sat outside for hours, letting the rain and wind wash over him, hoping for some sort of clarity, some sort of answer. As much love as he had for nature, and as much peace as that place had always brought to him before, tonight he had come out as empty and hollow as he had when he had first sat down. He barely noticed the water washing down his cheeks wasn’t all ice cold drops from his hair.

Numb, shivering slightly, Cas stared out of the windshield, watching the falling rain twisting the shapes of the trees visible in the weak beams of the headlights. He should check his phone. He knew Dean had sent him a text, he had told him he would when Cas had dropped him off, promising to let him know as soon as the bus arrived in Rail Pass. Dean always kept his word, and he deserves a reply.Cas groaned, dragging his hand across his frozen cheeks and squeezing the bridge of his nose.

_That’s what boyfriends do. They communicate. They text. They share. They don't ignore each other, they don't keep secrets, they…they don't fall for other people._

He forced his knuckles into his eyes, pressing until flashes broke out into the blackness behind his lids.

_Why can’t I just be honest?_

_He’ll try to work this out, he'll understand._

_I should text him back._

_I should tell him how I feel._

_How sorry I am._

_How I never meant this to happen._

_How much I still love him but I..._

_He’ll understand. He will. He will, he will he will_

_I just need to tell him_

_I…_

_Oh god…_

_I…_

_I have to let him go._  

Letting out a strangled sob Cas shoved his knuckles deeper against his eyes, causing a burst of light to scream across his eyelids. It hurt. _Good._ he thought viciously to himself. _I deserve it._ He held his hands pressed into his eyes another few seconds before it became too much. He loved Dean. He may have always loved him. For so long he had been absolutely convinced he and Dean would spend the rest of their lives together but now…

He heaved a sigh and draped his hands across the vents, soaking up the weak warmth the heater was putting out. He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the car, almost cursing himself for the sharp jolt he felt through his spine as the lingering smell of Polo Sport and cigar invaded his senses. It wasn’t Dean’s smell, was a far cry from it. Dean was musky and clean...like leather, fresh scrubbed woods after a hard rain shower, or the first true day of autumn, sharp and crisp. Dean’s scent had always cut straight to the center of Cas, grounding him and making him swear he was flying in the same instant. And Patrick’s car, his smell...it was about as far from Dean as one could go.

_But... isn't that the point?_

 

Cas grimaced and pulled his tingling fingers away from the vents, grabbing the seat belt and clacking it into place. He was confused. He was so very, very confused. With a deep sigh, Cas put the car into gear and made his way back to the road, heading towards town to drop off the borrowed vehicle. For the first time in a long time, although he knew his destination, he was driving without a clear idea of where he was going.

 

**∞∞∞**

Tuesday, May 11, 2004

The cafe was a bit stuffy, despite the open door allowing a gentle breeze to waft in, mingling fresh spring air with the tantalizing aroma of fresh ground coffee and sweet baked goods. Cas had been here since early afternoon, buried under a pile of books while he crammed for the rest of the week. His first final had wrapped up this morning, officially marking the end of his Junior year at Johnson State University. It had been a particularly grueling one and further expounded Cas’ conviction that, should he ever manage to get a job teaching like he wanted, he would stay far, far, FAR away from Political Science.

 

The only highlight of the class had been one of his classmates, Patrick, a chestnut haired, hazel-eyed troublemaker. He was originally from Ireland, and his accent, sardonic sense of humor and twinkling eyes had caught Cas’ attention. Patrick was a business major, and didn’t seem to have the same issues understanding the material like Cas did. He had offered early in the year to help Cas study, and the two had been meeting a few times a week to study ever since.

Cas had been one of the last to complete his test, the last essay proving to be the biggest struggle for Cas. It was with a sigh of utter relief that he had finally turned it in and slunk his way out onto the quad, relief short-lived as he was immediately inundated with dread over the next final he needed to cram for. He had hiked his bag higher on his shoulder and started off towards his apartment, intent on ignoring the rest of the world in favor of studying, when a familiar voice calling his name caught his attention.

 

“Hey, Cas! Wait up, would ya?” Patrick called.

He turned, grinning at his friend as he pushed himself up from the nearby steps he had been resting on.

 

“Patrick. To what do I owe the honor?” Cas raised his eyebrow.

“Was beginning to wonder if you’d been kidnapped and forced to repeat the class.” Patrick said, his lilting voice tinged with amusement.

“Don’t remind me,” Cas groaned. “If I don’t end up re-taking that class, it will be a miracle.”  Patrick chuckled, falling in to easy step beside Cas as they took off walking across the lawns.

“So,” Patrick said.

“So,” Cas echoed.

 

“ _So_ , you should come get lunch with me.”

Cas chuffed, “I don’t know what college *you’re* attending, but I still have to study to make sure I don’t have to repeat all my classes next semester.”

“Can’t study on an empty tank, though, can yeh?” Patrick says, a teasing lilt emphasising his accent. Cas looked up, catching the affection in Patricks eyes, warm and shining in the mid-May light. He felt a pull in his gut and swallowed, quickly looking back down at the path. He didn't respond.

“Well?” Patrick gently swung into Cas as they walked, bumping his shoulder slightly. “What do you say? Because I, as your very concerned friend and best looking classmate,” Cas snorted and Patrick glowered at him for a second before continuing on, “ _I_ say you cannot study effectively on an empty stomach. If you don’t eat, you’ll be forced to slough off ye mortal coil and all that, _and_ as corpses definitely can’t pass our Calc final, the only sensible solution is to…” he paused for dramatic flare, waiting for Cas to glance back up at him. “...have lunch with me.” Chuckling, Cas shook his head, adjusting his back pack again. A few moments passed before he pasted a fake scowl on his face, stopped and faced Patrick.

“You make good points,” he conceded, trying to keep a straight face, though he’s fairly certain the smile is still evident in his voice.”I suppose a quick lunch would be...acceptable.” He blinked owlishly at Patrick, reveling in the obvious joy in his friends eyes.

“You, my friend, have made a good choice. Who knows? There may be hope for you yet!” Patrick said, leading them towards a near-by cafe.

**∞∞∞**

They had been able to grab a spot outside fairly easily, thanks to the rush of finals keeping people either inside studying or already packing to leave for the summer. They enjoyed their food, chatting about everything and nothing before settling on speculating about how difficult their last shared final would be. Before he knew it, however, Patrick was asking for their check, apologizing for needing to leave, but not wanting to miss his next test. Cas wished him luck and he promised to text him later. As soon as he was gone, Cas gathered up his belongings and moved inside, snagging a small table wedged in the front corner of the shop.  After getting fully set up, he went back to the counter to grab a mug of coffee before buckling down and getting to work.

While he waited for the barista to return with his mug, he cast his eyes around the shop. His gaze swept the spattering of people idly until suddenly his breath caught in this throat.

There, against the far wall, sits a man in a worn flannel with broad shoulders and sandy blonde hair.

He has his back towards the counter where Cas is standing, frozen to the spot. Kitty-corner to him at the table is a pretty blonde girl, laughing, bright blush painting her cheeks, her blue eyes sparkling merrily. The noise of the cafe falls silent, the only sound the sudden rushing of his blood pounding in his ears as Cas is overcome with a hollow, gutted feeling.

_Dean is supposed to be gone, why is he here?_

And, more importantly, _Who the fuck is he with?_

His eyes laser focused on the blonde, he can’t seem to catch his breath, can’t feel the blood he can hear like a kettle drum in his head, can’t even _blink_ as he watches her throw her head back in laughter.

Unconsciously he clenched his fist and took a step towards the table, mouth opening to speak, to _demand_ to know _why the hell Dean lied to him,_ when the blonde suddenly leaned over the table towards the man. He shifted in his chair and angled his face. Cas can clearly see the outline of his profile.

It’s not Dean.

Exhaling sharply Cas relaxed his fist and abruptly turns back towards the counter.

 

 _What the hell was that about?'_ He angrily chides himself. _D_ _ean wouldn’t ... He wouldn’t do that. He loves me and I...I love him._

 

 _But._  

 

If he _truly_ loved Dean, why was he hiding? Why hadn’t he answered his calls. Returned his texts? Why was he forcing himself to stay busy while Dean was away? So he wouldn’t miss him?

 

_Or so I have an excuse for my silence?_

 

He raised his eyes to see the barista staring at him, holding out his now-piping hot cup of coffee with a terse, worried expression on her face. He flushed a deep red, embarrassed at his near outburst, and silently berated himself for being so easily distracted. He accepted the mug and smiled apologetically, mentally vowing to throw another few bucks in the tip jar for having to put up with him.

Still distracted, Cas made his way back to the table where he’d spread his books out. He slid in to his seat, absently sipping his coffee, stewing over his reaction to Not-Dean on the other side of the cafe.

**∞∞∞**

 

_Three weeks earlier:_

_When Bobby had called and asked if Dean and Cas would come help him with the trip to pick up the antiques and then mentioned maybe they’d be able to stick around a few days for a visit, Dean had been ecstatic, immediately promising they would be there the second week of May. He hung up, elation evident on his face when he burst into the bedroom to share the news._

_“Are you kidding me?” Cas had spat in disbelief from his spot on the bed, staring at Dean as if he’d suddenly sprouted a third head._

_Dean squinted at Cas in confusion, his giddy mood from speaking with Bobby gone, hackles immediately on the rise from his boyfriend’s tone alone._

_“What?” he said, warily.  “What am I missing here, Cas?”_

_“What are you...are you KIDDING me, Dean?” Cas threw his hands up in an exasperated gesture before pushing himself up off the bed, turning away from Dean and beginning to pace a tight circle on the floor._

_Dean shook his head, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, Cas, I don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist here, but you’re gonna have to spell it out for me cause I’m not following why you’re suddenly pissed at me.”_

_Cas’s pacing halted, and Dean swallowed convulsively as his boyfriend clenched his fists at his sides. He remained silent for another moment before slowly, slowly pivoting to face Dean. The cold fury in Cas’ eyes stopped Deans heart, so all-encompassing and out-of-character on his usually loving partner._

_“Dean,” Cas was practically growling, forcing his words out so low it seemed to almost be painful, his eyes wrathful and piercing. “I know that you are busy with your 9-5 job doing what YOU love, but *I* am still in school, trying to finally make something of myself and I cannot…”_

_“Woah, wait just a second,” Dean barked at him, indignation flaring his temper. “I’m proud as hell that you’re doing so good at school and gonna have a chance to make something of yourself, Cas, you know that. I’m not asking you to drop out, for chrissakes, we’ll only be gone a few days…”_

_“NO!” Cas shouted, slamming his fists down against the dresser, the force of it sending the picture frames that sat atop it clattering to the floor. “That’s just IT, Dean. that’s EXACTLY what you’re asking me to do! Are you really so blind you can’t see that? Or that ignorant? Or maybe, if you would ever pull your head out of your ass long enough to notice ANYONE ELSE around you you’d realize that the week you told Bobby we’d be gone is the week of my finals and I CAN’T JUST MISS THEM.” he roared._

_Dean stood, paralyzed by Cas’s anger. They had had squabbles before, even spent a night or two with one of them sleeping on the couch but he had never seen his boyfriend, fists clenched, shaking with rage before. “Cas, I…” he started, but Cas immediately spun on his heel, effectively cutting him off._

_“No, Dean.” Cas said, his barely concealed frustration still evident in the tremor in his voice, the terse line of his shoulders. He yanked open the drawers, fumbling through them for a sleep shirt and pajamas before slamming them shut again. He stalked past dean to the bathroom door, shoved at it with his shoulder then turned halfway, refusing to raise his eyes to meet Deans. “No, I won’t be going with you.” and he slammed the door._

Now:

Cas stayed huddled in the corner booth for the rest of the afternoon, slowly coming down from the rush of adrenaline the Not-Dean sighting has caused him. He occasionally responds to the texts Patrick sent him, but he carefully chooses not to share what happened earlier. He is just as careful to ignore the messages Dean has been sending him, pushing aside his feelings of guilt, telling himself that he’s too busy studying as he skips past the green message circle next to his boyfriend's name. Dean will readily accept that he was busy studying and won’t think to question him on it. Cas has no reason to lie to him, after all. He doesn’t take any more time to examine it, instead favoring texting back funny quips to Patrick before putting his phone back on the table and finally settling back into his studying.

Cas is deep down a path of calculus and imaginary numbers when the door to the cafe suddenly banged open, bell chiming obnoxiously loud, announcing the arrival of a large group of rowdy freshmen, startling Cas out of his bubble. He groaned, stretched his sore back and reached for his phone next to his once-again empty coffee mug. He clicked it on, instantly dismissing then new notification of text messages from Dean, telling himself he'll answer them later. It was already ten to nine; he hadn’t even realized  how quickly the day was passing him by. He had his final class as a TA tomorrow at 8am and still needed to organize his notes before he could call it a night. He gathered his things, pocketed his phone and headed home.

 

**∞∞∞**

Wednesday, May 12, 2004

The next morning passed by in an emotional blur. The class he TA’s for, English Lit, had quickly become the highlight of his semester, and Cas was sorry to say goodbye to the staff and students alike. It had been an emotional final period, their test having been more of a spoken review of the class itself, and no one had escaped without tearing up. The walk back to his apartment was long, and Cas was drained when he got there. Sighing with relief, he let his messenger bag slide off his shoulder to the floor. Toeing off his shoes he heads into the kitchen to make himself a pb&j, choosing to eat standing at the counter, trying to decide what to do with the rest of his day.

It is only Wednesday, he doesn’t have another final until Friday morning, and with Dean gone the apartment is all his. Aside from studying, Cas has no other obligations, no one waiting for him or expecting anything. He feels...free. Grinning to himself, he leaves his dirty dish in the sink and decides to head in, take a shower and spend the day catching up on the Netflix shows he’s been letting slide in favor of not failing out of his Junior year. He has one test the next day, then the rest of that night to study. He figures he’s earned the night off. Just before he heads to the en suite bathroom, he grabs his phone, intent on plugging it in to charge. He glanced down at it and can't stop the smile that spreads across his face when he sees a notification from Patrick.

_P: Hey! How did your last class go? Did you cry? I bet you cried. :)_

_C: Shut up, I did no such thing._

_P: Liar. I can practically see your tears from here._

_C: Think you know me so well?_

_P: I’d bet money on it. Should I bring over some kleenex?_

_C: …_

_C: Should I be honored or insulted?_

_P: Honored, of course!_

_C: well, I appreciate the gesture, but I’m home now, and I have kleenex here if I get sad again._

_P: ah, so you DID cry!_

_C: I guess I’d owe you money._

_P: :D_

_C: I’m going to miss them. They were a great bunch of kids._

_P: lol, I’m just giving you a hard time. I know how much that class meant to you._

_P: Hey- serious question._

_C: Shoot_

_P: After final Friday- drink with me to celebrate._

_C: I don’t know. Is this just a ploy to tease me in public about my deep emotional connection to teaching budding minds the finer joys of English Lit?_

_P: might be. Come out and see._

_C: I’ll think about it._

_P: I promise to bring kleenex._

_C: :P_

_C: I’ll talk to you later_

_P: Sounds good, see you Friday!_

Cas shut off his phone, plugged it in and headed to the bathroom. Stripping, he turned the knob all the way to hot, letting the steam begin to fill the bathroom before stepping in. He groaned, hanging his head down to his chest, letting the scalding water pound out the tension in his shoulders. Once he deemed himself sufficiently relaxed, he grabbed his body wash and washcloth, and set to work scrubbing off the grime of the day. Rubbing the lavender-scented soap over his skin, he ponders his next few days, his mind wandering from what to watch on Netflix, to whether to study in the library or cafe tomorrow, to the final on Friday and, finally, to the possibility of hanging out with Patrick again.

His interest in Patrick had definitely grown the more he had gotten to know him. He found his laugh pleasing, he was funny and light-hearted, seemed kind and always so prepared. He was wickedly intelligent, his sharp eyes never seeming to miss a thing. It made him an ideal study partner, and, Cas mused, it made him an...interesting friend. Cas found his mind lingering on his eyes; the warm hazel-brown, the way they crinkled when he laughed, how they stared at him while he was talking, as though Cas were the most interesting person in the world. _Dean used to look at me that way_. But did he anymore? He honestly couldn’t remember.

With thoughts rolling through his head, Cas absentmindedly slipped his hand down his abdomen, the warm, sudsy cloth skating against his smooth stomach, his trimmed pubes, his…. _rock hard shaft_. He inhaled sharply. 

 

_When had that happened?_

 

_More importantly, why?_

 

_Surely not...because of Patrick?_

Cas hadn’t ever been with anyone beside Dean, had never even entertained the thought of being attracted to anyone else before. Aside from a _very_ occasional jerk off to porn, he had never even cum to the thought of anyone other than Dean since they'd met. He carefully set down the cloth, drifted his hand to his cock again, almost experimentally brushing his fingers across the turgid skin. He shivered.

_Oh, that_ definitely _felt good._

  
Ignoring the tinge of guilt in his gut, he reached for the body soap, poured a generous amount into his palm and wrapped his hand around his shaft. He groaned, leaning into the heat of the shower, the water pounding on his back just adding to the sensations shooting throughout his body. His hand started moving, tightening and loosening his fist as he swept it up and down. He groaned again, twisting his wrist into the head of his cock before thrusting into his fist. Over and over he pushed and pulled, feeling his balls drawing up, his stomach starting to tighten in anticipation. He was so close, so close, so close. Eyes flashed across his mind and his orgasm swelled. Hazel brown and merry, warm and laughing, twinkling at him, gorgeous brown eyes, staring into his own, deep green eyes... Cas gasped, yanking his hand off his cock.

Not brown. Green. Deep green, full of hurt and confusion…With an anguished cry, Cas slid down the wall of the shower, tears mixing with the cooling water flowing down the drain.


End file.
